Respectful Fuckboys

— July 9, 2015

I have a confession: I am a recovering Fuckboy.
For those of you who don’t know the definition, just do some googling since I know you’re probably not hip to the ever-evolving internet Tumblr slang but just so you know, I was one. Or maybe I still am. Or maybe I’m in recovery. Or maybe I’m like an addict who stops using but is still considered an addict when he gets around his drug. Either way, I was less than stellar to women at multiple points in my life. Now, I’m not going to sit here and roast myself over the fiery coals of guilt while I attempt to subtly write some self-aggrandizing account of how I am “healed”, but what I will do is sit on my couch tonight in a slightly delirious moment of vulnerability and tell you why.

There is no one specific reason anyone is intentional deceitful in hopes of a purely sexual relationship. It could be anything from the terror of expressing emotion, a deep seated hatred towards a group of other humans, a fear of true intimacy, or a host of a million other disfunctions – but mostly it comes from someone not being taught how to respect another person or group of people. That last part is pretty obvious and you are all highly enlightened beings so that’s probably nothing you don’t already know.

But that is important to understand: “not taught.” As in, no person of influence got through into their brains and convinced them to be respectful with a person’s time, affection, and sexuality. No one sat them down and told them the respectful way to communicate with another person. Or worse, maybe they taught them all the worst ways and fostered the worst behaviors. Drunken frat bros, misoginistic fathers, sexist best friends – they can seep into the corners of our brain and give us all the wrong information. And while it is not your obligation to fix anyone’s damaged Fuckboy, we should all want to leave our corner of the world less shitty, right? And how we do that is by telling the Fuckboys of the world exactly why and how they’re being disrespectful. Hell, I had no idea that certain behaviors were so damaging. I just thought everyone knew I was being the “shocking” and “obnoxious” version of myself. I thought if I was laughing, everyone else should be too – even if it was at their expense. But it wasn’t until someone sat me down and explained that how I was acting could possibly be leaving behind me a wake of damaged women that I actually began to listen.

Fuckboys need someone to sit them down and explain how they’re using the wrong “bait” in their arsenal of attraction. That saying “wanna fuck?” as an opener in an email, Facebook message, or bar has never worked in the history of life. Well, maybe like one time in 2005 but that dude was really hot and probably the guitar player of the band that just played. Even then, someone should have said, “Bro, just slow down. You don’t need to go so hard.” Because no woman has ever thought, “Damn, why aren’t there more disrespectful and degrading men out there shouting insults at me from behind a keyboard or out of a car window?”

Sure, you can tell them to “fuck off” and walk away, or you could scold the turds before you throw them back into the dating pool. A number of strong women in my past sat me down, wrote me an email, or shouted back at me and said, “Hey dummy, you are not allowed to treat me this way. This is not okay.” Because a scolded child remembers the lesson. Whether or not he follows it is anyone’s guess. But at least those women did their part in hopes that I wouldn’t go out and ruin another woman’s day. And while I still have my clumsy moments, my interactions are now based upon what I think is charming, polite, and relatively funny – even if it is obnoxious and a bit crass, I do it respectfully.

About author

Christopher Gutierrez is the author of several books on love, sex, and relationships. He also hosts a weekly podcast, The Deep End, in addition to running Deadxstop Publishing. Since 2006, he has given hundreds of speakings at colleges, coffee houses and universities all over the world.